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The door popped open with a sigh. In spite of God and wasps and her father, she had stolen plums; and once
because of discovered misdeeds, and once because she had realized that her
mother was dead, she had lain on her face in the unmown grass, beneath the elmtrees that came beyond the vegetables, and poured out her soul in weeping. Lucy loved orchestras, the
bittersweet tinge of rosin dust that hung in the air, the
way that the sun shone through filthy windows
illuminating the marimbas with a storybook light. Those lives removed,—and Sir Rowland is completely
in his power, the estates would be yours—HIS! if he were your husband.
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This video was uploaded to pleroma.gnusocial.club on 03-07-2024 12:00:42